Free The Thrill of It by Lauren Blakely Page A

probably a high school guy working the carnival after school.
He appraised me up and down, his big, brown eyes on me, liking what he saw. He flashed his smile to my mom.“Write down her age.” He handed her a pen and piece of paper from a notebook in his back pocket. She dutifully wrote down my age, folded up the paper and handed it back to him. He took the paper but didn’t open it.
“ She’s sixteen,” the carnival man declared.
Triumphant, my mom shook her head. “Thirteen,” she said proudly as he opened the paper to see my age. She ran a hand over my hair, petting her prize racehorse, and we walked away. She didn’t bother to get the blue bear she’d won. She got what she wanted. A thirteen-year-old who looked sixteen.
“ He’s cute, don’t you think?”
“ Mom,” I chided.
“ He’s adorable, Harley,” she said in a teacherly tone. As if she were instructing me in the ways of taste and attraction. “He’s probably fourteen, maybe fifteen. You guys would be cute together.”
“ You think so?”
“ Absolutely.” Then she lowered her voice. “We’re going on the Ferris Wheel. Go back and see him.”
Butterflies filled my belly. But she’d given the go-ahead. She’d encouraged me. This had to be the way the world worked.
When my mom and Pierre were up in the sky, I returned to the carnival guy. He leaned against the Guess Your Age sign, searching for his next customer. I tapped him on the shoulder.
“ You were right,” I whispered near his ear.
His lips curled up. “You really are sixteen.”
“ I really am sixteen.”
“ Me too,” he said. “Good thing I didn’t give her a bear.”
“ Good thing,” I echoed back.
He licked his lips slightly, tasting what I imagined was the salty heat on them from a muggy summer night. Then I gestured with my eyes to the nearby whack-a-mole and toss-the-ring games. Behind the games was a little hideaway spot, a private corner of the carnival world. There, against the dirty once-white concrete wall I reached out to him, my hand linking through his, bringing him closer to me. I lifted my other hand to his face, brushing my fingertips against his cheek.
I’d never kissed, I’d never been kissed, but somehow I was a natural. I was all instinct.
Later, when we were home, my mom asked me how it went.
I told her everything. Because, that’s what we did. That’s normal, right? She squealed and clapped. “Your first kiss!”
Then she gave me kissing tips for the next time. A lesson in seduction from my mother.

Chapter Seven
Harley
    I sink into my pillow, practicing deep, calming breaths.
    Reciting mantras Joanne taught me at SLAA.
    This too shall pass.
    The three-second rule.
    Let the past be the past.
    I lie flat and picture calm waters. Blue seas. Shining sun. A warm breeze. The beach I want to run off to. The ocean I want to carry me away from New York. The sand between my toes. Everything is peaceful in the world. My life is serene. Each day flows into the next and I go through life with a smile, a nod and a feeling of good will towards humankind.
    There are no sirens, no email demands, no mothers who set you up, no fathers who leave you, no boys who run away from you when you throw yourself at them.
    But that life is a lie. A pathetic, bald-faced fabrication and I don’t believe me for a second. There is no peace, there is no serenity, there is no happiness in love, and it’s as if someone or something cranked me up a notch, turned the timer on a once-dormant, now-ticking bomb inside me. I try to ignore the noise and the sound and the tightness in my body.
    I pull the covers over my head and close my eyes, but I can’t sleep. Classes are nearly over, I have no more homework, I have no summer plans, I need something to do. I kick the sheets around a few times, flip on my back, then my stomach, even toss off the bedspread. I feel itchy, antsy. I clench and unclench my hands. I glance at my phone. It’s alive, calling out to me, whispering sweet